


Knife Edge Waltz

by Strozzzi (butmicoooool)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Consensual Non-Consent, Dirty Talk, Humiliation, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Sex, Rape Fantasy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 14:18:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19319893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butmicoooool/pseuds/Strozzzi
Summary: He feels more than sees Crowley’s smirk. “You want somethingwretched.”“Yes,” Aziraphale breathes in answer.“Somethingfoul,” Crowley continues. He moves them suddenly, and Aziraphale finds himself looking up into golden eyes. “Tell me what you want, angel. I will indulge whatever deplorable desires you have.”____________Aziraphale wants Crowley to take, and Crowley does.





	Knife Edge Waltz

**Author's Note:**

> READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. Very explicit non-consent fantasy with negotiation and aftercare
> 
> This fic is dedicated to my 2 faves: u know who u are.

They’re on their fifth or so bottle of wine when Aziraphale says,  

“So I’ve been reading…”

“I’d bloody think so, you live in a bookshop,” Crowley scoffs.

“No, no. This is… this is, you know. It’s…” Aziraphale finds he can’t quite meet Crowley’s eyes. The sunglasses were lost somewhere during the third bottle, and his eyes burn golden in the low light of the room. It makes something under Aziraphale’s skin itch.  

“It’s…” Crowley prompts.

Aziraphale takes a deep breath and punches out the words: “I have something I want to try.”  

Crowley’s entire body reacts to those words. He goes from casual sprawl, to sitting up, attentive, eyebrows raised.

“You’ve been in the lewd section again, you _dog,_ ” Crowley’s glee is unmistakable. “Oh it’s been so long since your last flight of fancy, I thought you’d shriveled up down there."

“Yes, well,” Aziraphale straightens his perfectly straight bow tie. “This one is a little bit… well it’s a little more demanding than the last one.”

“The last one involved three costume changes and live doves,” Crowley says. “What do you have planned for this one? Are you finally going to let me take you to the moon?”  

Aziraphale doesn’t answer, but feels himself blush.

“If you’re embarrassed it must be a pretty intense fantasy.” Crowley practically slithers over to Aziraphale to whisper in his ear, “Must be something _unbecoming_ of an angel.”

Aziraphale suppresses a shiver He has to close his eyes, as he loses himself in the feel of Crowley’s breath ghosting over his neck.  

“I’m… worried.” He says at length.

“About what, angel?” Crowley’s hands have already worked themselves devilishly under Aziraphale’s many layers. He skims along Aziraphale’s hips, digs into the soft flesh of Aziraphale’s back.

“I’m worried that...” Aziraphale’s hands clench and unclench in his lap. “I’m worried that you will think that _I_ think… poorly of you.”

He feels more than sees Crowley’s smirk. “You want something _wretched._ ”

“Yes,” Aziraphale breathes in answer.

“Something _foul,_ ” Crowley continues. He moves them suddenly, and Aziraphale finds himself looking up into golden eyes. “Tell me what you want, angel. I will indulge whatever deplorable desires you have.”

“I want…” Aziraphale grabs onto the lapels of Crowley’s jacket.

“Yes?”

“I want you to- to- to-,”

“Tell me,” Crowley grits through bared teeth.

“I want you to tempt me, no, not-- not tempt--,” Aziraphale’s voice is shaking. “I want you to take me, to take what-- what’s yours. I want you to ruin me, to-- to destroy me. I want-- Crowley, _please_.”  

“Of course, of course,” Crowley soothes. “I’ll ruin you, whatever way you want.” He has his knees snug to Aziraphale’s hips, and runs a hand through Aziraphale’s hair. “You want me to rough you up? Hurt you?"

“Yes,” He mumbles. “And don’t stop…”

“I won’t st--”

“Even when I say no,” Aziraphale blurts is out and then immediately hides his face in his hands, so his next words come out muffled. “Don’t stop when I… If I ask you to stop. Don’t stop.”

“If you’re sure,” Crowley says, but his eyebrows furrow and he pulls back a little. “I can give that to you, angel. I am a demon after all.”

“Precisely,” Aziraphale says with a little more confidence, lowering his hands. “I want you to really lean into the demon act.”

“It’s not an act, angel,” Crowley says, and the air has shifted. Crowley’s voice goes deep and sultry. “I am one hundred percent evil. A dastardly, sly demon. Nothing good about me.”

“W- well,” Aziraphale stammers.  

“And you want this demon to sully you, hmm?” Crowley leans in close, brushes his nose against Aziraphale’s cheek. “Tell me what you want, Aziraphale.”

“Yes, yes. I want it. But-- not now.”

Crowley’s head whips back. “Not now?!”

“No, no-- you have to catch me unawares.” Aziraphale tuts. “You really need to set the scene. I am trusting you to bring the theatrics, dear.”

“Theatrics, yeah ok,” Crowley sighs, and flops down to lay beside Aziraphale.

“I want to assure you, Crowley, that this in no way reflects on what I think of you or your character,” Aziraphale says. “This is purely… a game. And I know you really are a nice-,”

“If you finish that sentence, angel, I will not fuck you ever again.” Crowley attempts to glower and ends up somewhere around pouting.

“I just don’t want you to take offence.”

“Of course not. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about me.” Crowley’s face softens. “Shall I be heading out then?”

“Well,” Azirapahle pauses for a second and then Crowley is looking up into sky blue eyes. “I suppose we could do a little more brainstorming, if you’re willing.”

Crowley lets a smirk take over his face. “Brainstorming? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Aziraphale says. Seeing the look of absolute confusion on his face, Crowley can’t help but laugh.

“Oh, stop it.” Aziraphale admonishes and leans in to swallow Crowley’s laughter in a kiss.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Aziraphale hears the kettle click off and goes to make himself a cup of tea. The weather outside has been dreadful all day. Cold, grey, wet. He is happy to be bundled up, cozy and alone in his bookshop. 

He sees a strange flash of movement in the corner of his eye. He shrugs it off, probably just a harmless fly or a moth. He carries his hot mug back to his armchair, but before he can sit down the mug is grabbed from his hands and thrown against the wall. The sound of shattering ceramic makes Aziraphale yelp and jump back, right into something solid. 

 

Some _ one _ solid.

 

No time to react or call out - Aziraphale is pushed roughly, chest flush against the wall. A hand covers his mouth and another holds his wrists in a vice grip at the small of his back. His mind is screaming, but his body feels numb. He should fight back, he should break free, he should-- Aziraphale tries to wrench his hands free, but feels some kind of binding - leather - wrap around his wrists. It’s impossibly tight, the edge of it biting into his skin just so. 

“Now, now, angel,” a voice says. “I can’t have you running away on me. Then I’d have to chase you, and I hate running.” 

Aziraphale can feel hot breath on his neck and the sting of sulphur in his nose. His captor digs his fingers into the soft flesh of Aziraphale’s hips. 

“Wh-- who are you?” 

“Oh, don’t you remember me? We go way back. Garden, apples, temptations. Ring any bells?” 

“Crawly,” Aziraphale says in disbelief.  

“You haven’t forgotten!” Crowley (or for now,  _ Crawly _ ) beams. “Oh angel, I am flattered.” 

Crowley turns Aziraphale around, slamming his back into the wall. Now Aziraphale can take in the full sight of him: He’s wearing all black, a sharp suit, his hair styled in a perfect quiff, and his eyes are burning gold, dangerous and divine. 

He flicks a decidedly-not-human tongue out to taste the sweat gathered at Aziraphale’s throat. The touch of it stings Aziraphale. Crowley leaves a burning trail up Aziraphale’s neck, along his jaw. The blood and adrenaline running through Aziraphale’s system is making him lightheaded, he’s on the verge of collapse and the only thing keeping him upright is a demon that wants to take him apart.

“What do you want from me?” Aziraphale can barely get the words out around the lump in his throat. 

He doesn’t hear so much as he feels Crowley’s dark laughter, the shake of his body against Aziraphale. It sends a cold shiver down Aziraphale’s spine.  

“You wanna know what I’m gonna do to you, angel?” Crowley presses the bulge of his erection against Aziraphale’s thigh. “I’m going to ruin you.” 

“Oh--,” Aziraphale gasps. “That-- please-- I-- I don’t--,” 

Crowley’s hands go to Aziraphale’s clothes and he rips open the waistcoat, then the shirt, buttons clattering to the floor. 

“Please-- don’t, whatever you--, please don’t do this,” Aziraphale begs. There are tears in his eyes, but they haven’t spilled over yet. 

“Shut it,” Crowley snarls, teeth bared. He twists Aziraphale’s nipple hard, until the tears flow down his cheeks. Crowley leans in to catch them with his tongue as they gather along Aziraphale’s jaw. It stings again, the burn worse this time. Aziraphale moans in pain as Crowley continues to twist and pinch, moving from Aziraphale’s nipples down to the soft, sensitive flesh of his stomach. 

“When Gabriel finds out--,” Aziraphale starts. 

“When they find out that you let a demon touch you like this--” Crowley says. “They’ll want nothing to do with you.” 

“But-- I’m not--,” 

Crowley, with a sound close to a hiss, grips two fistfuls of golden curls and drags Aziraphale to the next room. It takes all of Aziraphale’s angelic grace to keep from completely falling over. As it is, he just stumbles along as Crowley leads him painfully to the bedroom. He’s thrown to the ground and his head cracks sharply against the wooden floor. It leaves Aziraphale dizzy, vision swimming. Crowley is barking orders but Aziraphale can’t hear him over the ringing in his ears. 

The next thing he knows, he’s being lifted, and then pressed down into the sheets. There are hands on him - Crowley’s hands. They grab at Aziraphale, rip the rest of his clothes to shreds. The hands pinch and squeeze and shove at him until his face is pressed into the pillow and his hips are in the air.  

The leather bindings around Aziraphale’s wrists are loosened, and his hands are free. He gathers his last bit of strength to push himself up, trying to scramble away. But a hand grips the back of his neck and his entire body goes slack. 

“You better keep still for the next part, angel.” Crowley says, and Aziraphale can hear the sick smirk in his words. 

“Don’t, don’t do this--,” Aziraphale pleads weakly.

“I bet you’ve never done anything like this before, hmm? Never had someone touch you like this,” Crowley says. He grips Aziraphale’s arse in both hands, spreading his cheeks. “Never had someone touch you here.” 

“No! I’ve-- I’ve never-- Please.” Aziraphale feels Crowley’s breath on his hole and it makes him squirm, makes him want to push away but there’s a weight in his bones that stops him. Crowley presses a thumb inside Aziraphale.  

“They don’t allow this sort of thing upstairs,” Crowley says casually. “The pleasures of the flesh, it’s enough to make an angel fall.”   

Aziraphale feels the tension in his shoulders give out, and he slumps even further down. Crowley teases at his hole with his fingers and his tongue. Aziraphale feels-- He feels sick with it.

“You won’t get away with this,” he says. “I’m, I’m-- Heaven will see what you’ve done and--  _ oh, _ ” Aziraphale’s sentence is cut off with a pained groan as Crowley slowly presses his hot length inside Aziraphale. 

“Heaven won’t want you back when I’m done with you,” Crowley says, pushing in deeper and deeper. “They’ll see my fingerprints all over you, my seed spilling out of you.” He lets out a deep guttural moan when his hips are flush to Aziraphale’s arse. 

“They won’t be able to even look at you, you’ll be such an embarrassment.” 

Aziraphale goes red with shame, guilt. A thick knot forms in the pit of his stomach. He feels Crowley start to move inside him, he feels the demon fuck into him. It’s slow, but with enough force to rock Aziraphale forward with each thrust. 

“I should fill you up and leave you on Heaven’s doorstep. What will they think of their wonderful Aziraphale, made impure. Tainted,  _ spoiled. _ ” Crowley hisses out the last word, tongue flicking against Aziraphale’s skin. 

Aziraphale presses his face harder into the pillow to muffle his groan. His face is hot, everything feels too hot and too cold. He fists his hands in the bed sheets, trying in some small way to hold on, to keep himself grounded as Crowley takes and takes and takes.

Crowley’s nails rake down Aziraphale’s back, hard enough to leave angry red welts in their wake. He finds the softest part of Aziraphale’s waist and digs in, this time he draws blood.

It’s all just a dull ache to Aziraphale at this point. Crowley lets go and pulls out, and Aziraphale doesn’t have the energy to resist as Crowley manhandles him onto his back. Now he’s looking right at Crowley’s face, and Crowley can see the tears in Aziraphale’s eyes, the blood where he’s bitten at his lip. 

“Or maybe,” Crowley muses as he pushes back Aziraphale’s legs to bend him almost in half. “Maybe I’ll bring you up to Heaven and have them watch as I fuck you.” 

Aziraphale chokes out a “ _ no!”  _ and tries to cover his face. Crowley grabs his wrists and pins them above Aziraphale’s head. He slams into Aziraphale with a grunt. “There’s no hiding from me, angel.” 

“There’s no hiding at all.” Crowley voice is right in Aziraphale’s ear, he can feel it reverberate through his very bones. “I’ll have all the archangels out to watch as you succumb to my temptations. What would they think, hmm? Gabriel and Michael watching as you bend over for a demon? You’d be the laughing stock of Heaven.” 

Aziraphale lets out another sob. “Please--,”

“And you’d love it, angel.” Crowley takes Aziraphale’s face in his hands and kisses him, bites at his already torn lip and licks up the blood. 

Aziraphale loses himself. Crowley keeps talking, but the words swim around him, through him, Crowley moves in him but Aziraphale is like water, and he parts so easily. 

 

A sharp slap across the face brings everything back into focus.

 

“Are you listening to me?” Crowley’s face is contorted in anger. Aziraphale tries to form words, but his tongue is too big for his mouth, and he can’t think, so he just nods and hopes that’s the right thing to do. 

“I  _ said, _ ” Crowley continues. “If I brought you up to Heaven, the angels wouldn’t know what to do with you.” His face twists into a sick grin, “No, if we want to get a real party going I’d have to bring you down to Hell.” 

Aziraphale shakes his head, but it’s all too much. The shame crashes through him in waves.    
  
“Oh, they’d be lining up to get a piece of that angelic arse.” Crowley grabs at said arse, hitching up Aziraphale’s hips, and fucking into him deeper. Aziraphale’s own cock lies forgotten and useless against his stomach. “They’d tear you to shreds, fuck any last piece of goodness out of you.” 

Aziraphale hears crying. His impulse is to go, to comfort whoever is in pain, until he realises that it’s him. He’s crying. Ugly sobs ripping through him as Crowley moves above him. He shut his eyes against the sight of him. Crowley grabs Aziraphale’s face, hard. Fingernails digging into his cheek. Some ancient instinct tells Aziraphale to open his eyes, so he does. 

“But I wouldn’t let them touch you, angel,” Crowley says. Aziraphale can taste the words. “Because you’re  _ mine. _ ” 

With that, Crowley comes, filling Aziraphale. And it  _ burns.  _ The heat of it inside him short circuits the last working part of Aziraphale’s brain, and then he’s coming, too. Untouched. 

Crowley looks down at the mess on Aziraphale’s stomach and tuts. “You enjoyed that?” 

The disgust is another slap in the face to Aziraphale. Crowley pulls out too fast, and the absence of something inside him aches. Aziraphale’s whole body aches. He watches as Crowley zips up his fly and fixes his belt. Aziraphale realised absentmindedly, Crowley didn’t even undress. He feels a renewed shame in his nakedness. Crowley’s seed spills out of him and the horror of it sets him off crying again. 

“Pathetic,” Crowley spits. “No wonder Heaven abandoned you down here.” 

The door slams. 

Aziraphale closes his eyes and lets the darkness inside swallow him up. 

 

* * *

 

 

When he comes to, he’s tucked in bed, blankets up to his chin. They’re soft, comforting, and the smell of freshly washed cotton fills him with a warmth right down to his toes. Which he wiggles, because it feels nice. He keeps his eyes shut, and nestles further under the covers, safe in this dark warmth. 

Then, an impossibly light touch on his forehead.  

“Are you awake, angel?” Crowley whispers gently. 

“No,” Aziraphale pouts. Crowley chuckles, and the sound of it unfurls something tender in Aziraphale’s chest. It’s enough to convince him to crack open one eye. 

Crowley is sitting on the bed, above the covers. He’s fully dressed, but the suit has been swapped out for a pair of black cotton pyjamas. The look soft, and make Crowley look cuddly in a way his angular frame usually doesn’t allow for.

“How are you feeling?” Crowley’s voice is tentative. 

“Feeling?” Aziraphale is confused. “I’m feeling… I’m… wonderful,” he sighs. 

“Really? After-- after, all that?” 

“Well, I asked for it didn’t I?” 

“I know, but…” Crowley looks away. “I got a bit carried away.” Aziraphale notices then that Crowley is still wearing his sunglasses, and now that he’s withdrawn his hand he’s not touching Aziraphale anywhere. 

“Yes, and it was marvelous.” Aziraphale pushes himself up, and is annoyed when Crowley shifts so they still don’t touch. 

“It’s just… you were crying for most of it.”

“Cathartic.” Aziraphale smiles. “A wondrous release.” 

“I made you tea,” Crowley says, and fumbles for the cup. The cup clinks on the saucer as he hands it to Aziraphale. 

“Oh, thank you dear.” 

“Extra sugar.” 

Aziraphale smiles at him over the cup. Crowley watches in silence for a few moments as Aziraphale drinks. 

“You really enjoyed… all that?” Crowley says quietly. 

“I really did,” Aziraphale answers easily, setting the empty mug down on the bedside table. “Didn’t you?” 

Crowley goes quiet again. Aziraphale reaches out a hand, Crowley flinches at the touch but doesn’t pull away. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley says. “I’m a demon.” He takes off his glasses. “I’m worried I enjoyed it too much.” 

“You could never hurt me, Crowley, not really.” Aziraphale tugs on Crowley’s elbow until he has an armful of demon. “That’s why I trust you to give me this, only you could do this for me.” 

“You really trust me?” Crowley mumbles into Aziraphale’s neck. 

“Of course, you fool. I love you.” 

“Oh,” The sound is shocked out of Crowley. “Well, in that case.” 

Aziraphale hums in agreement, and runs his fingers through Crowley’s short hair. 

“I do miss your long hair,” Aziraphale sighs wistfully. “It was so fun to play with.” 

“Then I’ll grow it out again,” Crowley answers immediately. He cranes his neck to look up at Aziraphale. “I love you.” 

 

Aziraphale beams, and kisses Crowley, slow and sweet, until the sun rises. 

  
  


 

 


End file.
